


Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Omg the tags make it look so gloomy, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, atleast at the end, but it's happy i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: John gets tired of trying to drink himself to death, and tries out one of themore efficient ways to do it. But the universe apparently has something else in mind for him.





	Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adder24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adder24/gifts).



> This is inspired by this absolutely STUNNINGLY WONDERFUL ART ADDER MADE AND I AM STILL IN AWE OF IT. I suppose the art might've called for a death fic, and i am a chicken-y chicken and I like happy things :D. 
> 
> Also I am writing after SUCH an awful block (so please excuse the stilted tone of it, and the mistakes) but it felt wonderful to be inspired.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic <3, even half as much as I enjoyed your art.

John leaned over the railing and stared at the murky water flowing under it, and felt like it called to him. The world had become too small for him lately, the streets closing down on him, the air too thin and suffocating him. It was as if there was no place left for him anywhere. And yet, over and over again, his feet carried him here, to the Queensboro Bridge, the water beckoning him.

He was already drowning himself in a bottle. He supposed the East River was a little roomier than that.

The wind picked up a bit, and John relished how the cold felt against his freshly shaven skin, how it whipped through his newly cut hair. Something had urged him to find the last stash of money he had buried, and instead of buying yet another cheap bottle of alcohol, he had cleaned himself up and bought something decent to wear. It had felt important, like a ritual he must undergo before it was time.

He was ready.

An eerie calm settled inside his chest and a ghost of a smile appeared on his face at the situation. There was a morbid sort of irony in the fact that after everything he had survived, the war, the CIA, Ordos… Jessica… this is what would finally kill him: _himself_. Because he was, in fact, the only real monster of his story. So be it.

His hands trailed over the smooth metal of the railing and he sighed, letting himself feel the tactile sensations, and say goodbye. John wasn’t really convinced he would miss them.

A responding sigh coming from beside him gently tugged John out of his contemplations, and John glanced to his side, surprised to find someone standing next to him. He was usually a lot more aware of his surroundings, but his lapse was understandable, given the situation.

The person in question was a young, petite woman, probably in her mid-twenties with red windswept hair staring out at the river. She felt him watching her and turned around to smile at him beatifically. For a moment, the pure joy and life on her face almost overwhelmed John.

“Trying to make an important decision?” she asked conspiratorially.

“Something like that.” John looked away, staring back at the horizon. “How did you guess?”

“This is my spot. I come here whenever I am confused. It feels like the river speaks to me, tells me what I need to hear.”

John could hear the river beckoning him, telling him he would finally be content in its arms, so he nodded. “Yes, it does.”

“Ignore me if it’s rude, and I am sorry for prying, but what are you wondering about?” She had turned around towards him, staring at him with something like concern in her eyes. Oh, she was definitely perceptive. John gave her a long look before replying.

“The end of life.” By the shock on her face, it was obvious she knew what he meant. He smiled, a sad little tilt of his lips, and asked. “And you?”

“Me?” She looked like she wanted to talk about his confession, but she must’ve seen something on his face cause she relented. “Oh. Just the opposite.”

John only felt confused for a moment, but then the girl looked down, her hand coming to rest on her lower belly, and understood.

The beginning of a life, and the end of one, at the same spot. The universe had a certain rhythm to it that he could appreciate. He smiled again, and it felt a lot more genuine this time. “Congratulations.” Looking away, he didn’t know why he continued the conversation, but it felt as natural as breathing. “Who is the lucky father?”

“Um, Richard. He… well, his parents don’t exactly agree, which is why I am here. We are running away, starting a new life. It’s not easy, leaving everything behind, but…”

“It’s worth it.”

“Yes.” Her smile was so bright, her expressions fiercely determined and at complete odds with her fragile appearance. She was strong, and John felt awed and oddly proud of her. “Oh where even are my manners. I am Alice.”

She turned around completely now, extending her hand. John looked at it curiously for a moment, the social courtesies feeling alien to him, before grasping it in a firm grip and shaking it lightly. “John.”

“Hello, John. It’s really nice to…” She was still speaking, but John noticed someone behind her, a middle aged man, hurrying towards them, his limp noticeable.

“Alice, do you know that guy?” He squeezed the hand still in his grip, nodding to the man who was now waving his hands, trying to catch their attention. Alice looked confused, before turning around, but all of John’s senses were hyper alert now. He saw the man’s eyes widen in panic, flitting to the side, and that was the only reason he noticed the speeding van, veering towards them.

“Duck.” He moved forward instinctively, every alarm in his head blaring in danger. He placed his hand on Alice’s shoulder, pushing her down and away and turned around to face the van. He only had a moment to notice how fucked he was, to see the man leaning out of the van’s open door with a rifle in his hand before he felt the unmistakable sensation of being shot in the chest.

Shit.

He looked down in shock, watching the blood slowly seep out of the wound, spreading through the white fabric of his shirt and coloring it a rich shade of red. So immersed he was in the observation that he didn’t hear the sound of tires as they came closer, and he only registered he had been hit by the vehicle when he was flying through the air, watching the van speeding away. Only coherent thought in his head was that he was glad he had pushed Alice away from himself and not behind him.

He fell, and was expecting to hit the pavement and feel the crunch of his bones. But he didn’t stop falling, going down, and his eyes latched on to the Alice’s—the sole reason for the last ten minutes of life becoming so eventful. Her eyes were wide, in shock and terror, and too far away.

Oh.

He was falling down the bridge. Just like he had planned.

If he had to die, he supposed this was a better way to go than killing himself. The end of his life helping save the beginning on someone else’s. Poetic in its own way.

Why then, did he not feel the rush of relief he was expecting? What was this deep ache in his chest, distinct from the slowly registering pain of the bullet and the broken ribs? Why did his mind rebel against closing his eyes and letting the darkness take over? He stared upwards, surprised at the way his hand was reaching up towards the sun and trying grasp the light of it in his palm.

John hit the water, freezing cold, and was hit with shock of realization.

He didn’t want to die.

Helplessly, he felt himself laugh, feeling the water rush into his lungs, choking him. It was so typical of him to value what he had only after he had lost it. Jessica, his sense of purpose, and now, even his life.

John kept his eyes open, watching the light of the sun dim, as if it was the sun drowning in the water and he was watching it from the distance, and in the growing darkness he could feel the million eyes watching him fall, everyone he had hurt in his line of duty, every unnecessary life he had taken under orders. They watched him as he answered for the crimes that were never classified as such, crimes nobody would ever know of.

He wanted to apologize, he wanted to tell them that he tried his best, that he gave and gave until everything inside him ached at the emptiness. But he didn’t have any right to make excuses… and the dead didn’t care.

Soon, he could convey his apologies in person.

His last thought, before darkness took over was the limping, bespectacled man, his face crystal clear in his mind though if he had barely caught a glimpse of him, calling out his name. If it was strange last thought to have, he didn’t question it.

* * *

 

> (Art by Adder24.[ Here on tumblr](http://adder24.tumblr.com/post/170166435152/theyre-watching-as-i-fall-staring-as-i-go-i-gave))

* * *

John gasped, inhaling lungful of air, his eyes unseeing. All he could feel was excruciating cold as if his very bones had frozen through. He tried to blink and focus on the surrounding but the images kept swimming in front of his eyes. He could barely tell there were hands on his chest, and someone leaning over him, pressing against his chest and breathing heavily.

When he tried to push up, the hands pushed him back down, and a high pitched panicked voice spoke, “It’s alright Mr. Reese. You’re alright. Please try and relax. Help is on its way.”

He realized he felt far too heavy to move anyway, and the chill was slowly receding, bringing forth more pain than he could properly catalogue at the moment. So he closed his eyes, and gave in to the sweet pull of unconsciousness.

Next time he opened his eyes, it was to the sounds distinct to a hospital; he was unfortunately all too familiar with the beeping of the monitors and the quiet hums of the machines. He had regained consciousness surrounded by them more times than he could count. Shit. He couldn’t be admitted in a hospital, not when he was supposed to be dead according to all records. He felt panic building in his chest, knowing he had to get away from here as soon as he could. He must’ve made some sort of noise because suddenly someone stepped closer, his face coming into focus in front of him.

Ah… it was the man from the bridge. John had seen the man only once before in his life but somehow his presence was comforting. A familiar face. He tried to swallow the panic, looked around wildly for people coming to take him away and opened his mouth to speak. The man interrupted him before he could voice his question.

“This is a private facility, Mr. Reese. I told nobody about you, so you need not worry.”

Oh. He sagged in relief, somehow certain the man wasn’t lying to him. “Thank you.”

The man shook his head slightly. “I believe the gratitude in this situation belongs to me.”

John frowned, trying to parse through that statement, but the man came closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can talk about this later, for now, you need rest. Go back to sleep.”

The pull of darkness was too much to resist, and so was the draw of the man’s order. So John slept.

* * *

“Do I owe you money? Because I am, uh, running a little short at the moment.” John watched as the man limped into the room. He had been awake for a few minutes, waking up to beeping monitors again. This time he was conscious enough to notice the surroundings. The brick walls, draped windows and the large wall clock was unlike any hospital John had ever seen before. A private facility indeed.

The man stilled, his eyes widening behind his glasses, and he looked quite like a startled bird. “You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Reese.” The way he said that, John was sure there was more meaning to that sentence but his mind got stuck on the name, his pulse quickening.

“Who sent you?” Because it had to be a trap. They wanted something. They found him, and now will drag him back to the world where he would slowly drown, more surely than drowning in the bottle, more painfully than falling off the Queensboro Bridge.

“Nobody sent me.” The man stepped closer to him, his face determined. “And you can call me Mr. Finch.”

Finch. The name was oddly fitting. John nodded, but couldn’t shake off the doubts in his head. “Why do you call me that?”

“That’s the name you prefer, isn’t it?” The guy- Mr. Finch- looked confused at the question. “I know you’ve had several.”

That was… strange. Information that this guy shouldn’t technically have. But John supposed he had been asleep for a while now, plenty of time for research. That’s what he would’ve done. But Finch hadn’t know him before he brought him here.

“Why did you save me?”

“That is a long story.” John raised his eyebrow, waiting for it, and felt an urge to smile when the man lifted his hands in exasperation. He did smile when Finch dragged the chair closer to his bed, settling down, his face irritated. John couldn’t be sure yet, he didn’t know enough about this guy, but he also looked fond.

“I saved you because you succeeded in doing something I have been trying to achieve for months now.”

“And what is that?” John had his suspicions, but he wanted to be sure.

“I believe you have already met Ms. Greggor.” At John’s blank look, he added. “Alice.”

He waited for John to nod, before continuing. “I had been trying- and failing- to follow Ms. Greggor for the last week…”

John pushed himself up, alarmed all of a sudden. That was not what he was expecting; a concerned uncle, maybe. A stalker…

“Not,” Before John could do something drastic, Finch grimaced and raised a hand to stop him. “Not like that. I was following her because I knew she would be involved in a violent crime, and I wanted to stop it from happening. Unfortunately I was too late to warn her about her boyfriend placing a hit on her. I would’ve been too late to save her from the attack as well, if you hadn’t been there. She would’ve surely died. You saved a life back there, and I could hardly let yours be lost.”

“Two.” John amended.

“Excuse me?”

“Two lives.” When Finch still looked baffled, John explained. “She was pregnant. I suppose that was the reason her boyfriend wanted to kill her. She mentioned his parents not approving.”

“Oh.” Finch sagged in the chair, wiping a hand across his forehead. “Oh dear. Poor girl.”

“Is she alright?” John felt concern flare in his heart, remembering her smile and excitement.

“As well as she can be. She is unharmed though, you made sure of that.”

Tension he didn’t even know he was carrying left his frame and he looked up at the ceiling, quietly grateful for the sheer chance that had put him in her path. She was somebody the world needed.

“How did you know she was in danger?”

“I didn’t.” John gave him a look, and he explained. “I just knew she would be involved in a crime. I couldn’t have known whether she would be a victim.”

“How?”

Finch sighed exasperatedly. “I had hoped to have this conversation when your physical condition had improved somewhat.”

“I am fine.”

“No. What you are, Mr. Reese, is stubborn.” He glared.

John shrugged, the movement pulling at his bandages and he had to suppress a wince. By the expression on Finch’s face, he was sure if he failed miserably. Still, he didn’t say anything, waiting it out.

“I have a list. A list of people who are about to be involved in very bad situations. Like Ms. Greggor. These people have no idea anything is about to happen to them, but I do. And I need your help in stopping it.”

“The police…” John knew the justice system was flawed, but obviously what Finch was talking about was more up their alley.

“No. The police is out of the question. It has got to be you.” He looked at him with determination and hope in his eyes, and John had to turn his face away.

“I am not your guy, Finch. Find someone else.”

“You think I didn’t try that? No. It’s not just a job Mr. Reese, it’s a mission. And you are the only one with the skills and the conscience necessary for something like this.”

John swallowed around the lump in his throat, wanting to desperately to cling to the faith this man had in him, but he knew, he _knew_ what he was, and Finch didn’t.

“I am not your guy, Finch. You don’t even know anything about me.”

“Quite to the contrary, Mr. Reese. I know exactly everything about you.” John turned around to look at him, curious again. “I know about the work you used to do for the government. I know about the doubts you came to have about that work. I know that the government, along with everybody else, thinks you’re dead.” John pushed himself up until he was half sitting, anger and panic warring in his chest. “I know you’ve spent the last couple of months trying to drink yourself to death.”

Then, Finch looked at him, his eyes infinitely kind, more than John could take but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “And I know why you were there on the bridge that day.”

John’s throat was dry, but he forced himself to speak the words. “And still you want me?”

“Yes.” The man said simply, as if it was the easiest decision. “In fact, I had been planning to approach you with the offer for quite some time now. But fate brought you to me instead.”

John just stared at him, his eyes narrowed, processing the information. Finch seemed to understand his need for more clarification. “I don’t think you need a psychiatrist, or a support group or pills.”

“What do I need?” John asked, goaded more like, but he already knew the answer.

“You need a purpose.”

That was it. A purpose. He had lost it in Ordos- or no, that wasn’t exactly right. He had lost his purpose a long time back, when Mark and Kara sucked it out of him, made him a puppet dancing to a tune he couldn’t even hear, let alone believe in. But what Finch was offering felt too good to be true. He wanted to know what the catch was.

“Why me?”

“Because I have read your file, and I think all you ever wanted was to protect people. And that’s what I am offering you. A chance to protect people. I am hoping you will accept it.” Finch sounded earnest, and the words elicited a sharp ache inside his chest.

“What’s in it for you?”

John couldn’t believe this man was working out of sheer altruism. Nobody was that nice. Finch looked at him for a moment, sizing him up, before answering. “The same thing as you, Mr. Reese. Redemption.”

This time, John looked. Really looked. And there was no mistaking the haunted look in those eyes behind the glasses, the pain and the _regret._ There was a story there, too personal for a stranger, but something that called to John, a kindred spirit, suffering in the mistakes of the past and trying to make up for them.

John didn’t believe in messiahs, or second chances, or fate, but he could believe in balancing the scales a little bit. He could try and believe in redemption. He had already tried the bottle, and the bridge, and neither had been quite satisfactory. He thought of Alice and her warm smile, and thought that maybe the answer didn’t lie in drowning himself in deep darkness of the water, maybe the answer lay in burning himself up while trying to kiss the sky.

He supposed he was a dead man anyway, might as well make a few good choices to make up for all the bad ones.

John looked into the eyes of the man sitting anxiously at his side and nodded, watching that face light up in delight. “Alright. When do I start?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am an absolute sucker for comments, and would be eternally grateful if you let me know what you thought. ♥


End file.
